That Great Unseen Good Man
by starfishstar
Summary: Teddy has questions. Harry has some of the answers.


**Note:** Written for the rt_morelove "Stocking Filler Exchange," for gilpin25's prompt: Teddy hears tales of his parents from those who knew them.

. . . . .

Something was bugging Teddy.

It started one afternoon during the summer hols when they were over at the Burrow. The adults were talking about something or other from back in the Order of the Phoenix days, and Teddy admittedly wasn't listening all that closely, until Gran Molly glanced over at Teddy, sighed in that way she always did when she talked about his parents and said, "Your father was a good man."

And there was just that breath of a pause before Gran (his actual Gran, Andromeda, not his Gran Molly, and yes, Teddy was well aware that his sprawlingly extended surrogate family could be kind of confusing) nodded and agreed, "Yes, he was."

It wasn't that Teddy doubted that she meant it. His Gran had liked and respected his dad a whole lot, Teddy knew that. But she never said _anything_ bad about him. And she couldn't have liked _everything_ about him, could she?

For one thing, Teddy knew about how his dad had walked out on his mum, just for a bit there, before she'd had Teddy, and Gran couldn't possibly have been thrilled about that. Not to mention that Dad was a werewolf at a time when prejudice against werewolves and their families had been at its worst, according to Aunt Hermione. And he was a lot older than Mum, too, and she'd been only 22 when they met! Surely Gran had had something to say about that?

But to Teddy, she only ever said how kind and caring and noble his dad had been, what a good man.

Teddy was so sick of those words, _a good man_. What use was that? A good man was fine as a teacher or a hero or whatever, but it wasn't somebody you could think of as a dad.

Mum, at least, was more real to him. Everybody loved to tell Teddy about the amusing noses she used to do to make them laugh, and how clumsy she was, and how funny and clever and fun. Everybody had great anecdotes about Mum.

And it wasn't Gran's fault, of course, but the fact was she had a lot more to tell Teddy about his mum, who was her daughter, than about his dad, who was, when you came down to it, someone she'd hardly got to know before he died.

Teddy's dad, that great unseen good man.

He must have still been thinking too hard and looking too serious about it when he was over at Harry and Ginny's for dinner the next week, because later that night, after Teddy had told all three of the kids a bedtime story like they always requested (demanded) when he came over, he went back downstairs to find that Ginny had discreetly made herself scarce. That was always code for Harry wanting to have a man-to-man chat.

And, yup, there was Harry sat alone at the kitchen table, a bunch of papers in front him with the Auror Office logo stamped at the top, hair messy because he always absentmindedly ran a hand through it when he was doing paperwork. Teddy tried to sneak a peek at whatever Auror thing it was before Harry snapped the file shut.

Harry looked up and smiled. "Butterbeer?" he asked.

Teddy thought it was kind of amusing how Harry liked to offer him butterbeer like it was some kind of special, grown-up treat, even though Teddy had been drinking butterbeer at Hogsmeade weekends all year. But then, Teddy thought it was kind of nice, too.

"Sure," he said.

Harry waved his wand to Banish his file of Auror stuff, then got up to fetch two butterbeers. He popped off the caps with the most delicate flick of his wand – someday, Teddy was going to do magic that casually, too – and came back to sit at the table, motioning Teddy towards the chair opposite.

Harry slid the bottle across the table towards him and Teddy caught it with one hand before it reached the edge. Harry grinned.

"Still depriving the Ravenclaw team of those Keeper's reflexes?" Harry teased. It was a running thing between them, that Harry pretended to be disappointed that Teddy had never tried out for his house team, but did a really bad job of hiding that of course he wasn't actually disappointed in Teddy in the slightest. Harry wasn't constitutionally capable of that.

James, on the other hand, professed to be mortally wounded that Teddy wasn't even trying to become a Quidditch star. (Though Teddy had his doubts whether James even knew what "mortally wounded" meant. James' appreciation of any new phrase he learned tended to be in direct proportion to how dramatic it sounded.)

To Harry, Teddy said, "Only because organised sport is beneath me," just to see Harry mock-wince. He dropped into the chair opposite Harry and raised his butterbeer so they could both clink their bottles together…which did feel pretty grown up, actually.

"How's your summer been so far, Ted?" Harry asked, once he'd taken a sip and set his drink back down. Harry was the only one who called him "Ted," and Teddy kind of liked that, too. It was a little thing just the two of them shared.

"'Sallright," Teddy said. He didn't quite know how to explain that he loved being home and getting to see Gran and all the Potters and Weasleys, and being James and Al and Lily's favourite climbing frame, but he missed being at school with his friends so much that sometimes all he could do was wish it was September.

It was okay, though. Harry always seemed to understand.

"Something on your mind?" Harry asked next, leaning back in his chair. "You were quiet at dinner."

Teddy shrugged. It wasn't like he really even had a question, something he could ask Harry. It was just sort of a vague dissatisfaction that he was _never_ going to know who his dad had really been.

But – surely Harry would understand that feeling. Harry hadn't known his parents either. People had probably fed him the same lines about what good people they'd been.

"What was my dad _really_ like?" Teddy burst out.

Harry's eyebrows lifted.

"I mean – people always just tell me how great he was, this war hero who was so noble and brave and everything. And I know he _was_ those things, but he was a person, too, right? He wasn't perfect. No one ever tells me the not-perfect things about him."

"Oh, Teddy," Harry said, carefully setting his butterbeer to one side. "No, he wasn't perfect. Of course he wasn't."

"Well, then, why do I never get to hear about it? I want to know what he was like."

Harry lifted his shoulders a little helplessly. "I know this is not particularly helpful to hear, but I do know how you feel. For years, all people would tell me was what a great guy my dad was, what a hero."

"And then?"

"And then I, er, accidentally saw some memories I probably shouldn't have seen, and found out that he was really a bit of a prat when he was a teenager. It was a hard thing to have to see at the time, but with the benefit of hindsight – a great deal of hindsight – I do think that knowing about that side of him made it easier to relate to him as a person. So, yes, I get where you're coming from, Ted."

"And?" Teddy asked hopefully. Not that he exactly wanted to hear that his dad had been a prat as a teenager or whatever other equivalent thing, but maybe Harry would finally tell him some stories that went beyond _Your father was such a good man._

"And," Harry echoed, picking up his butterbeer again. He seemed to be trying to decide what to say. "Well, it's a bit harder with Remus. He really was very good, even when he was younger – oh, don't roll your eyes at me, Teddy. It's true. When my dad was showing off about what a clever, handsome Quidditch star he was, your dad was there just being a good friend to everybody."

Yeah, Teddy's dad and Harry's dad had been at Hogwarts at the same time. Again – Dad was kind of old.

"But the biggest problem with Remus, maybe the only problem, really," Harry mused, "was that he could just never believe he was good enough."

"Oh, come _on_," Teddy said. "That's like saying, 'my greatest flaw is that I'm too much of a perfectionist.' Or, 'my only failing as a friend is that I care too much.'"

Harry looked across the table at him and laughed. "Where in Godric's name do you pick this stuff up?"

Teddy shrugged. He read a lot.

"Let me finish that thought, though," Harry said. "Remus really was a pretty fantastic guy. He _was _all those things people tell you he was, like wise and brave and kind. But if he had a failing, it was that he could not for the life of him seem to see himself the way the rest of us saw him. In his eyes, he was always a dangerous creature, a liability. A not-good-enough man. And _because_ of that, because he couldn't see himself through our eyes, he did some pretty awful things."

"Like leaving my mum."

"Like leaving your mum. Did you know he came to me after he did that? He tried to talk me and Ron and Hermione into letting him come with us."

"What, on your quest to find the Horcruxes?"

Harry winced a little. Teddy knew he hated hearing evidence that Teddy knew about Voldemort and all the horrible things Voldemort had done. Harry wanted Teddy to live in a world that was only ever happy and good. But the thing was, Teddy had been born only just before the end of the war, and he'd lost both his parents to it. It wasn't something that could ever not be a bit of a part of him.

"Yes," Harry said. "He proposed to come along and help us with the hunt, and insisted your mum would be fine without him. He did that out of his own fear, of course, not because he didn't care about her – or about you – but it was still a pretty terrible thing to do, I'd say."

"I've never understood that," Teddy said. "If he was so worried he'd ruined her life by having a baby and whatever, how was leaving her on top of it supposed to make things better?"

Harry smiled sadly. "That's what I mean. He thought he was so unworthy to be a father that you would be better off with no father at all."

"Why, though?"

"For one thing, he was deeply afraid that you would turn out to be a werewolf, too, that he would have passed on the curse that had made his own life so hard. We know now that that's not a concern, but he didn't know it then. The guilt he must have felt at potentially passing that on… And even aside from that, Remus just couldn't shake this idea that he was a liability, that anyone who got too close to him would be an outcast, would have their life ruined. He even said that to me, that you would be much better off without a father than with a father you would always have to be ashamed of. I've never forgotten that. 'Ashamed' is exactly the word he used."

"Oh, ugh, my _dad_," Teddy burst out. "That's so stupid."

"Indeed," Harry agreed. "I could have punched him for that. In fact, I very nearly cursed him."

"_You_?" Teddy knew Harry was a tough and talented Auror, but they, the kids, never got to see that side of him.

Harry chuckled. "Yes, me. I'm glad you don't see me that way, but I do rather have a temper when provoked. And your father certainly provoked me."

"What did you say to him?"

"I didn't have much of a chance to say anything. He blasted me with a curse that knocked me off my feet, and tailed it. I didn't see him again until after you were born."

"What!" This stuff about his dad and his practically-as-good-as-dad having rowed and duelled each other was _definitely_ new.

"By which time, I would like to add, he was long since back to living with your mum, and he was out of his mind with pride and joy over you. So he put things right in the end, he really did. I know from your gran how hard he worked during those months to be as good a partner as he could possibly be to your mum. But that was Remus all over, always thinking he had to work harder than everyone else just to be barely adequate."

Which made Teddy's dad sound like a bit of a chump, really.

"I did sometimes wonder, you know," Harry said, "why I never even met him until he happened to end up teaching at Hogwarts during my third year. And even then, he didn't admit to having been close friends with my dad until after we'd known each other for almost a year. How hard would have it been to say, 'Hey, by the way, your dad was one of my best mates in the entire world'? He was friends with my parents just as much as Sirius was. And Sirius threw himself into being my godfather, once we met again, but Remus always kept himself at arm's length. Even after he left Hogwarts, Remus was always more like a teacher to me than an uncle or a godfather. Why didn't he let himself take that role, too, the way Sirius did?"

"Seriously," Teddy agreed. How hard could it be? Teddy himself lived surrounded by Potters and Weasleys who frankly couldn't shut up about how much they all liked and cared about each other! It was almost impossible to imagine a family where people held back.

"But the conclusion I reached – later, as an adult – was that your dad didn't feel worthy of that role, maybe didn't even feel capable of it. He never expected to be a dad, Teddy, not because he didn't want that, but because he really didn't believe he could do it. I've come to believe that he felt it was safer to stay in the role of a teacher, helping me and being there when I had questions – and I did turn to him with many of my questions – but keeping a professional distance. I honestly think he believed I was better off without him as a father figure in my life than I would have been with him as that."

Harry sighed and swirled the liquid in his butterbeer bottle.

"So could you call that a failure of his?" he asked, still gazing at the drink in his hand. "Sure. Could I be angry with him that he denied us the sort of close relationship we might otherwise have had, because he didn't dare to try? Sure. And yet, I liked and appreciated Remus a great deal, and I'm very glad for the friendship we had. He gave of himself what he felt able to give, and I'm grateful for it."

He looked up at Teddy. "Does this help at all? You wanted the imperfections, and those are about all the imperfections I've got for you, when it comes to your dad."

"Yeah," Teddy said. He noticed that he'd barely touched his butterbeer, so he took a sip. "So, I guess that's what he was like with my mum, too?"

"What, the bit about not daring to try? Oh, yes." Harry chuckled a little to himself. "Believe me, he made her life hell for at least a year there. Maybe two, even." Harry paused, cocking his head. "Hm, if they got to know each other from the very start of when they met through the Order? Yeah, two years. Sheesh. You're lucky your mum was one stubborn woman."

"Why didn't she just give up on him, then? I don't get that."

Harry smiled, his expression going kind and soft behind his glasses. "Because he was a special guy, Teddy. And your parents, both of them, they really had something special together. Maybe especially because they had to work so hard to get there. I admit it, your dad wasn't just a good man, he was also a complicated one. But the effort he made, to go from being the guy who couldn't even dare to be anything more than a favourite teacher, to being a fantastic dad and husband to you and your mum? I respect him for that. I imagine you get very tired of hearing it, but I do wish you could have known him. Both of them."

Teddy traced the familiar lines of the Potters' kitchen table with one finger. "You were talking about a memory you saw your dad in. You mean in a Pensieve, right?"

He looked up, and Harry nodded.

"Do you think we could ever do that? You could show me some of your memories of them? Maybe Gran could too?"

Harry pursed his lips thoughtfully. "I suppose we could. But it's a fine line to walk with this sort of thing. On the one hand, there's nothing so wonderful as getting to see your parents, alive, see them exactly as they were. But it's easy to get lost in it. Have you ever heard of the Mirror of Erised?"

Teddy shook his head.

"Hm. Story for another time, then. But, yes. I'd want to talk to Andromeda first, get her permission, but I wouldn't mind showing you a few of my memories. Like how your dad taught me to perform a Patronus Charm. Or the time he admitted to having been one of the teenaged troublemakers who created… well, a certain magical artefact I happened to have in my possession at the time. I could show you the night he came to tell us all that you had been born. He was so overjoyed, I'll never forget that. That was the night he asked me to be your godfather, too."

Harry was looking fond and reminiscent. Then he shook his head and laughed at himself. "Yeah, okay," he conceded. "Apparently I'd quite like to show you some of those things. We'll talk to your gran about it, okay?"

"Okay," Teddy agreed. Even just thinking about it gave him a warm feeling. He'd seen pictures of his parents, of course, seen them smile and wave and hug each other, but it wasn't the same thing. The thought of seeing some actual memories of them – and even better, Harry's memories of them – was a nice one.

Harry's stories helped, too. Even and especially the ones that weren't "good." They helped Teddy know his parents – his great, unseen parents – a little bit more.

"Hey, Harry," he said.

"Yeah, Ted?"

"Thanks. You know, for being willing to talk about my dad. It does help."

Harry smiled across the table at him. "Good," he said. "I'm very glad." He raised his butterbeer. "What do you say, shall we toast to them?"

"Ooh, yeah!" Now there was something that definitely felt grown up.

Teddy lifted his drink and said, "To my parents."

"To Remus and Tonks," Harry agreed. "And to you and me, too."

Teddy frowned at him. "Is that cheating? How many people can you actually include in one toast?"

"As many as you want! Haven't you ever heard that old saying, 'My toast, my rules'?"

"Right, uh-huh," Teddy said, because Harry was a really terrible liar. "Okay – to us, too."

Harry grinned, "To your parents and to us."

Teddy smiled, too, and clinked his butterbeer bottle against Harry's.


End file.
